make a facebook status about it
by loecoehmoetion
Summary: All Leon wants from his boyfriend is a little post-battle affection, and all Raihan wants is to break a million followers on his Insta. This is, in fact, a point of contention. Raihan/Leon, because there's no character tag for them yet.


The after-battle glow—the scent, the stench, the overall feeling that Leon's bones had turned slimy and ran like Goodra's skin—he basked in it, breathed it in deep and savored that muscle-relaxing feeling of triumph. Raihan had given him a run for his money this time—he had delivered knockout blows to all but one of his team—but ultimately it was his Dragapult's Thunderbolt that had finally managed to take down Flygon, and afterward they shook hands like always (Leon always made sure to wipe the sweat from his palms beforehand) and retired to the lounge.

They plopped down on the sofa, and, still sapping energy from the battle high, Leon pressed his leg into Raihan's, and rested his still-trembling hand in between them, close enough so they practically rested on Raihan's hip. Nothing.

Not one to be deterred (or ignored for that matter), and motivated by rushing adrenaline, he sidled up a little closer, and a little closer still. By the time Leon had stopped sliding millimeter by millimeter, he was resting on Raihan's side, the two of them hip to him. He sniffed, wiped away the darkening blush on his cheeks with the same forearm he used to mop up the excess sweat, and, with all this happening, the only reaction from Raihan was hard, labored breathing, and a slight smile teasing the corners of his lips as he passed something on his social media feed, there for a second and gone as he scrolled up.

Leon watched a bead of sweat drip from his forehead and onto his shirt, as it was absorbed by the fabric, and Raihan, face deep in that damn firetruck red Rotom phone, tapped tapped tapped away with both thumbs.

Sighing, and, again, not one to be deterred, he listened to the roar of the crowd as another match began.

"Not bad today, _second_ place." Leon elbowed him in the side to get his attention, and Raihan tapped tapped tapped away, not looking up at Leon until 'second place' slipped past his lips. Leon craned his head away, hiding a devious smirk as Raihan squinted. It never took much to rile him up, and second place was always a point of contention.

"'Second place', my fuckin' tits, " he smiled now, the sharp canines of his mouth fully visible, "I had you on this one."

Leon adjusted, sliding a little closer, and this time Raihan finally, finally got the hint. He threw an arm over the couch, and his fingers toyed with the faux-Wooloo fur on Leon's coat.

"Until you didn't, bitch."

"Okay, ex-champion," Raihan pushed him back in the side, sniggering, "at least I didn't get my ass kicked by a kid."

"What?" Laughing now, Leon didn't hesitate to lay into him as the words emerged from Raihan's mouth, and shortly after they did, the tips of his ears darkened, "yeah you did! The only reason that kid kicked my ass is because that kid kicked your ass!"

"Fair, but," he drew out the vowel, and his lips brushed up against Leon's temple as he did so. They were dry and a little warm.

"You got your ass kicked as the Galar champion. That's, like, at least a thousand times more embarrassing than me getting my ass kicked as a gym leader."

Leon opened his mouth to say something smart, something that would piss Raihan off, something that would finally put the focus on them instead of his stupid fucking Insta following,

And then Raihan's phone pinged three times in succession.

Whatever interest he had in their prior conversation flew out the damn window as Raihan's eyes shot right back to his phone screen, and within seconds both thumbs were right back where they had been before and Leon rolled his eyes, slumping. Not that it mattered, because Raihan wouldn't see it knee-deep in his social media feed.

There was something almost comical about having to fight for his man's affections against a fucking half-a-pound piece of plastic, but if there was humor to be found here, at this moment Leon was having a hard time locating it. Something like anger quickly replaced the last vestiges of excitement building in his belly, followed by a flare-up of indignation. Was it too damn much to ask for some affection after the heat of battle?

Not to be outdone _(I swear, Leon, his mother's voice came to mind, tired and sighing, this stubbornness will either make you or destroy you_) Leon rolled up from the couch, and his bones cracked in the process. He stretched, grunting from the exertion, and Raihan didn't look up as he did so.

In the stadium, Leon heard the roar of the crowd as another match started up, and he stood in front of the still-sitting form of Raihan. Using Raihan's shoulders for balance, Leon lowered himself back down onto the sofa, sitting back on his haunches, both legs on both sides of Raihan's body. Leon ran his fingers up and down his man's sides, scooting closer.

He didn't look up.

"Oh, you're having a laugh, aren't you?" Leon said, mouth pressed in a thin line and eyes narrowed, but Raihan said nothing, didn't make any moves as if he had even heard what Leon said.

Leon kissed at Raihan's exposed brown neck, biting down at the soft flesh with his newly-whitened teeth. He moved up to the shell of Raihan's ear and started on that too, pressing his lips down, still ghosting his fingers up and down Raihan's defined midsection and feeling the toned body there. When Leon himself started to stir, finally Raihan tore his eyes away from the tiny screen, looking at him with those inquisitive, pretty blues (that Leon knew were contact lenses, but that was a trade secret) and Leon leaned in to kiss him on the lips. Only for Raihan to shove his phone in Leon's face and ask:

"Do you think I should go with Valencia or Mayfair for this one? Feel like Valencia makes the colors a tad more vibrant but Mayfair doesn't make me look as ashy."

A gym selfie of Raihan, pre-battle, assaulted his eyes with its artificial blue backlight coloring. In the photo he was shirtless and sweating and fine as all hell, and the caption stated 'getting ready 4 a match 2 day, wish me luck ;)!', and Leon's anger transformed into rage into fury. He took the plastic and glass from hell in his hand, wrapped it firmly in his palm and threw the stupid thing against the opposite wall.

"Are you mental?" Raihan yelled, raising up to retrieve it, and Leon sat down hard so he couldn't move, "That was the new Rotom Ten!"

"No, are _you_ mental?" Leon poked an accusing finger at Raihan's chest, planting his legs firmly in place so he had no choice but to listen, "Are you fucking kidding me, mate?"

Raihan threw up his hands incredulously, as if he couldn't even fathom where this argument was coming from; he squinted at Leon, mouth agape and before he could say anything more Leon firmly shut it, and put a big hand over Raihan's mouth.

"Shut up! Arceus on his throne, Raihan! Here I am, sitting—literally, sitting—in your lap, asking, begging, for just a measly crumb of attention, an iota of affection, of something, because I am so damn randy and ready to go after a battle, and instead of getting attention, or a kiss, or bent over a table, I get you on that fucking phone updating your stupid goddamn feed for your stupid goddamn fans asking me what stupid goddamn filter is best for your stupid goddamn selfies!"

He thought it a bit harsh after, but the stunned look on Raihan's face meant that something had cut through.

Leon unclenched the muscles in his abdomen, and let out one final, long exhale from his nose, closing his eyes as he did so. Raihan, for one of the few times Leon could remember in their long years of friendship that turned into a partnership, was quiet, looking at Leon with wide eyes, as if he so much as moved toward the phone Leon would not hesitate to stab him in the hand.

"You want me to bend you over a table?" Raihan asked in the foreboding, terrible silence, and Leon snickered.

"I would be remiss if you didn't." He admitted, brushing his thumbs over Raihan's jawline, "But since you're always so busy on that phone…"

"Alright, baby, listen," Raihan wrapped his arms around Leon's hips, drawing him in closer so he could rest his sharp chin on Leon's coat, "we can make a compromise with this phone thing, yeah?"

Leon pushed the black jacket from Raihan's shoulders, sliding his hands up past his shirt, and said softly:

"No phone after a battle."

"No phone after a battle," Raihan repeated dutifully, letting Leon adjust his position and push him softly back down onto the sofa. He took Raihan's shirt and threw that over the phone too, now discarded and forgotten where it bounced off of the wall and onto the carpet.

"You never answered my earlier question though." Raihan gasped, his lips still warm and wet where Leon had kissed him.

"Mayfair," Leon smiled, trailing up Raihan's neck, "you're right—Valencia makes you look dumb ashy."


End file.
